


Woman Wept

by Butterfly_Beat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU as of Mid-Season 3, Banshee Lydia Martin, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Death - Lots of Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:23:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Beat/pseuds/Butterfly_Beat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the mist rose amongst the trees behind the grave that finally held the correct number of bodies, Lydia stepped through the gateway without a backward glance.</p><p>It was good to be home.</p><p>A Re-Mix of Collie's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/915130">Held Onto the Fury</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman Wept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [collie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Held Onto the Fury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/915130) by [collie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie). 



In the end, it was as if she had never been gone at all. She was welcomed back into the mist that occasionally swept through the preserve in defiance of all meteorological logic, wrapped in the cold and the damp. She knew that when the vapor dissipated with the morning sun, she would be well and truly gone. It almost made the mess of the last year worthwhile.

She would never be sure when the two entities inside of her skin ceased to be separate and simply became _her._ She could guess, but it was easier not to think of those things, and part of her cried out for simple ignorance. Whether that was the human or the fae tag-along (or if they had always been one and the same, the latter merely sleeping until Peter sank his teeth into the situation), it was a moot point by the time she slipped into the mist. Either way, it had been a long time in coming.

If she’d been the shallow social climber she played for the cafeteria, it might have chafed to be ordered around like a pet dog - not once, but _twice_ \- by Peter Hale. But she’d been following other people’s instructions for years, ever since she realized that the best way to win the game of life was to learn the rules and work from within the system. So when Peter spoke to the _other_ in her, gave it directions and chased it with a pretty bauble that was clearly more than it appeared, she took it in stride and slipped onto the path he’d selected for her. It was a good fit, all things considered.

Peter’s reign, as she named it in the corners of her mind, began as she might have expected it to - as she knew to expect it, once she came to recognize the voices and the whispers.

Strict vengeance was the first order, time bided and blood spilled in just manner for the death of his niece. It soothed an itch, even as it fanned the flames of madness. Aiden fell in the same manner that began Cora’s demise, tooth and claw, yielding the ruby gaze of an alpha in Lydia’s sometimes-master.

The next were more difficult to stomach, though she watched because that it what her kind are meant to do. Observe and give warning when the winds are right, serving death and the darker side of fate. She was still split, back then, and her humanity wept for those she loved in her own way.

Some she mourned more than others, the necessary so much easier to swallow than the frivolous. Scott was a needed stepping stone, first and only wolf of Peter’s line and threat in all of the ways that Derek could never be. Isaac bought his end through alliance, flickering love and desperate need for the father he found in Chris Argent placing him squarely in Peter’s path. The hunter’s death may have been undignified, but it served the greater cause that echoed in Lydia’s bones. She let it pass with nary a scream.

The humans, the _true_ humans, those were the last flash of divided purpose that proved any test for her newfound fugue. Tears came easily, though her voice was muffled by the necklace Peter had gifted her with before the madness began, and her connection to the waking world started to flicker. It was all for nought. The days passed. Terrified and angry screams turned first to growls, later to pathetic whimpers and death rattles. There was no one to warn, and no need.

The salt irritated her eyes, and the irritation continued as Peter took them off into the sunset to build the power base he so desperately craved. There’s a safety in fulfilling her role and following the path of fate, though not one she recognized at the time. Peter spoke of safety on the long car journeys, and she believed him in that half-present way that she was coming to know all too well. The alpha’s words were empty assurances born of temporary need and a misguided belief that he could control one such as herself. Regardless, they rang true to her situation, so she allowed them to settle the muffled human concerns that surfaced in the liminal moments between day and night.

Everything was instinct, right up until the moment that the scream bubbled up and broke free as Peter pushed her that half-step too far, closing the bars of the cage that little bit too tightly. She was what she was, the impartial messenger and despairing school girl wrapped into a package too tightly bound to ever fall asunder. He had assured the strength of that bond, solidifying it each and every time he dragged her through death and the dense space between ended lives.

Derek was the last on the unspoken list, a death that deserved heralding just as much as Peter’s own inevitable demise. So much pain required a proper send-off, and she admired the poetic justice to be found in the final confrontation at the old Hale House. She hadn’t been the one to declare the first massacre, that right had fallen to one of her kin, but she would be the one to close the lupine chapter written in soot and ash. It was only fitting, since Peter had been the one to call her forth and bind her so tightly to his cause.

Her kind rarely became directly involved in the ending of lives. It was true of the girl, and it was true of the other that had slowly consumed her. They proclaim, they watch, and they set things in motion when absolutely necessary. They do not save, and they do not take, except in the gravest of situations.

When she put a wolfsbane bullet through Peter Hale’s skull, both sides of Lydia Martin’s soul were at peace with the act. When he was finally consumed in the fires that claimed his conscience nine years earlier, set to rest as far from his nephew within the blaze as she could manage, the ever-present tears finally stopped.

So when the mist rose amongst the trees behind the grave that finally held the correct number of bodies, Lydia stepped through the gateway without a backward glance. It was good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a pinch hit, and I'll fully concede that it took me a lot of agonizing to sort out which of the lovely Collie's work to re-mix, but hopefully she'll enjoy this. I think it's certainly in keeping with the original work, but she'll know better than I would.
> 
> Many thanks to those who listened to me flail over how to remix and WTF I had gotten myself into after volunteering to write on a compressed deadline while not in control of my own schedule. Luckily, it all seems to have worked out!
> 
> (Also, yes - the title does indeed come from the planet referenced in Doctor Who)


End file.
